


Fireworks

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Cultural Differences, Cultural References, Destroy Ending, F/M, Fourth of July, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Spanish Shepard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 12:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Shepard and James celebrate the foundation of the United North American States in the traditional fashion, with picnics, fireworks, and sexy times.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buhnebeest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buhnebeest/gifts).



“You don’t need to take me all the way up the hill, James,” Shepard said, folding her hands in her lap. It felt awkward, being carried, even in a wheelchair, and even if James’ biceps were more than up to the task of carrying her. There were lots of families with small children littered about the sides of the hill – it wasn’t steep, and she certainly wouldn’t mind watching the children’s reactions to the fireworks.

Knowing that there was an entire generation who’d survived the Reaper war certainly made physical therapy a lot more bearable.

“ _Lola,_ _Lola, la estrella de mi vida --_ _c_ _á_ _llate_.” James pushed her chair a bit faster, and she smiled as she felt the wind hitting her skin as they advanced up the sidewalk. Not many were going to the very top of the hill, and the crowd around them had thinned considerably. “Trust me, Lola…You gotta see it.”  
  
“I dunno,” she said, ignoring the stab of pain as her fingers made contact with James’ hand on her handle. “Seems like the view here is nice enough."  
  
“Ay,” James said, squeezing her hand softly. She couldn’t see him, but knew he was blushing from the way he said it; the slight tremble in his voice gave him away every damn time. “Like I said, you gotta see it, okay?”  
  
“Well, I’m not going to argue with the expert, _se_ _ñ_ _or_ _americano_.”

He snorted. “You’re just jealous. You _wish_ Spain had holidays like this, Lola.”  
  
“We’ll go back to Seville for _la_ _s_ _emana_ _s_ _anta_. And then you’ll really be jealous.”  
  
James chuckled. “Only if we do _d_ _í_ _a de los_ _m_ _uertos en el_ _distrito federal_ _,_ _señorita._ Then I’ll show you a _real_ holiday. This is nice and all, but _los americanos_ _and_ even _tus españoles_ can’t even hope to throw a parade as good as Mexico City.”  
  
“We’ll see.” She smiled, again ignoring the odd feeling of her stitches stretching as she did. It was nice to imagine they’d be able to travel again soon. “You’re on.”  
  
James leaned forward, putting his weight behind the wheelchair, as the road in front of them became abruptly steeper.

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” she said, folding her hands around the picnic basket and blanket in her lap.

“Nah,” he said, jogging with the wheelchair. Even James couldn’t pretend it weighed nothing. “It’s good exercise, _mi_ _estrella_.”  
  
She didn’t argue, instead watching as the tree lines became thicker as they traveled upwards. Finally, it plateaued into a more sparsely wooded field.

James grinned, moving them right to the center of the flat area and walking in front of her. “Tada!”

“James, there’s nobody here.” She looked around the field; she was pretty sure they were the only ones who had bothered to reach the top of the hill. “You sure this is a good spot to see the fireworks?”  
  
“Positive, _mi alma_.” He grinned and took the blanket that had been tucked on her lap and spread it, then picked up the picnic basket. And then he knelt down, looking deep into her eye, and smiled.

“You ready, Lola?”  
  
“I think – I think I can try to do it.” She scrunched her nose. The doctors had _said_ six weeks before she even attempted to walk, but it had been five weeks and she was ready. Her muscles felt tense, unable to cope without _some_ action.

“Nah, doctor’s orders.” Vega laughed. “And if you feel bad, you can lift me out of the chair next year, okay?”

She laughed. “Fine, although you’re probably going to throw my back out.”

“Says the woman who fights krogan. For _fun_.” James lifted her up, twirled her just long enough to make her laugh, and then put her gently down on the ground.  She laughed as he stood up for a second, staring a bit at her.

“Mm. Damn fine sight, Lola.”

“Yeah yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “Bit lonely down here all by myself,  _cariño_.”

“Ah, don’t worry.” He sat down, curling an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “Your James is here, _mi_ _amor_.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“And he brought food.”

She smiled.

“See, I know the way to your heart, _mi estrella_.” 

“You got a treat for me?” She smiled as James nodded.

“What do you think of these bad boys?” James asked, pulling out several carefully wrapped sandwiches.

“Sandwiches?”  
  
“ _Ham_ sandwiches, Lola. With tomato.” He leaned forward, gently cradling her shoulder. “Just the way you like ‘em.”  
  
“That’s a good start.” She grinned. “What else?”  
  
_“_ Soda.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yours is pineapple.”  
  
She grinned and grabbed her cup. “That sounds good.”  
  
“And finally…” James grinned, doing a drum roll across the top of the basket before pulling out a thinly wrapped package. “Tada.”

He handed it to her and she carefully unwrapped it, taking her time. A corner revealed it was a pastry. Another corner revealed…. no.

“James,” She groaned.

“Tada!” He grinned. “Your favorite, _lolacita_. Churros con chocolate.”

“Oh no.” She picked one up, making a face at the cinnamon and sugar that he had sprinkled over the churros. “James, you didn’t…”  
  
“Oh Lola, _mi alma, mi estrella_ , I hate to criticize _las comidas españolas_ – “  
  
“That’s a lie.”  
  
“But it’s true, your churros have _no_ flavor.” He raised a stick, dunking it into chocolate sauce that was a touch _too_ thick to quite resemble the place she’d stop for breakfast off _la a_ _venida de Jose Laguillo_ back home but it was a good try. “Your people just don’t know how to make good deserts.”  
  
She rolled her eyes, dunking a churro in the sauce. “When did the man who eats hot dogs by the package become such a gourmet?”  
  
“Hey, I’m from the United North American States, baby.” He grinned. “Gotta eat the national foods.”

“So you are and so you do.” She took a bite. He’d done good, other than the sweetness: the churro was properly thick, but still airy.  “Good job.”  
  
“ _Gracias, mi chica_.” He kissed her temple, then bent lower, pressing kisses into her neck, and the skin there was so sensitive – she gasped, then moaned when his tongue flicked behind her ear.

“You’re gonna miss the fireworks,” she moaned. “And dinner. Not very United North American of you.”  
  
“Heh, I’ve seen 'em.” He grinned. “But maybe you’re right, better eat first. Might need the energy, eh?”  
  
He waggled his eyebrows and she smiled; with her injuries, James hadn’t been able to do anything _too_ strenuous; she doubted he needed the rest.

But then James’ stomach was _almost_ as well-trained as his biceps.  
  
They ate quietly, both of them too into their meals to both talking. It was good, she had to admit; James knew how to make the best sandwiches, with just enough tomato.

When they were done, she raised an eyebrow. It was already dark. “So… When are the fireworks?”  
  
“In a minute or two, I think.” He chuckled. “But… I think I can make you see some fireworks right now.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He grinned and motioned for her to lay back. She raised an eyebrow.

“James, we’re in public.”  
  
“I thought of that.” He reached into the picnic basket, pulling out a second blanket.

“You daredevil,” she whispered, and James merely chuckled, pulling the long blanket over his head in the warm July heat.

She felt his fingers pull down her waistband as she saw the first sparkles of light across the sky.

James tongue traced down her belly button and she moaned, slowly, slowly, as lights sparkled across the sky.

“James,” she breathed. “James, I see them.”

“Me too, Lola,” he whispered, his breath just seconds from her cunt. “Me too.”

She gasped as his tongue lathered her hot slit in a patriotic kiss, and fireworks burst across the sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [buhnebeest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/buhnebeest), who knows the true value of Spanish churros far better than I.


End file.
